opportunity, he thought with bitterness, and they’ll knock you flat; they’ll walk right on over you and leave you there.
“Dog eat dog,” he said aloud.
“Sir?” Larson said at once.
Jason Dill put down the form. He opened a drawer of his desk and got out a flat metal tin; from it he took a capsule which he placed against his wrist. At once the capsule dissolved through the dermal layers; he felt it go into his body, passing into his blood stream to begin work without delay. A tranquilizer . . . one of the newest ones in the long, long series.
It works on me, he thought, and
they
work on me; it in one direction, their constant pressure and harassment in the other.
Again Jason Dill picked up the form from Director Barris. “Are there many DQ’s like this?”
“No, sir, but there is a general increase in tension. Several Directors besides Barris are wondering why Vulcan 3 gives no pronouncement on the Healers’ Movement.”
“They’re all wondering,” Jason Dill said brusquely.
“I mean,” Larson said, “formally. Through official channels.”
“Let me see the rest of the material.”
Larson passed him the remaining DQ forms. “And here’s the related matter from the data troughs.” He passed over a huge sealed container. “We’ve weeded all the incoming material carefully.”
After a time Jason Dill said, “I’d like the file on Barris.”
“The documented file?”
Jason Dill said, “And the other one. The unsub-pak.” Into his mind came the full term, not usually said outright.
Unsubstantiated.
“The worthless packet,” he said. The phony charges, the trumped-up smears and lies and vicious poison-pen letters, mailed to Unity without signature. Unsigned, sometimes in the garbled prose of the psychotic, the lunatic with a grudge. And yet those papers were kept, were filed away. We shouldn’t keep them, Jason Dill thought. Or make use of them, even to the extent of examining them. But we do. Right now he was going to look at such filth as it pertained to William Barris. The accumulation of years.
Presently the two files were placed before him on his desk. He inserted the microfilm into the scanner, and, for a time, studied the documented file. A procession of dull facts moved by; Barris had been born in Kent, Ohio; he had no brothers or sisters; his father was alive and employed by a bank in Chile; he had gone to work for Unity as a research analyst. Jason Dill speeded up the film, skipping about irritably. At last he rewound the microfilm and replaced it in the file. The man wasn’t even married, he reflected; he led a routine life, one of virtue and work, if the documents could be believed. If they told the full story.
And now, Jason Dill thought, the slander. The missing parts; the other side, the dark shadow side.
To his disappointment, he found the unsub-pak on William Barris almost empty.
Is the man that innocent? Dill wondered. That he’s made no enemies? Nonsense. The absence of accusation isn’t a sign of the man’s innocence; to rise to Director is to incur hostility and envy. Barris probably devotes a good part of his budget to distributing the wealth, to keeping everybody happy. And quiet.
“Nothing here,” he said when Larson returned.
“I noticed how light the file felt,” Larson said. “Sir, I went down to the data rooms and had them process all the recent material; I thought it possible there might be something not yet in the file.” He added, “As you probably know, they’re several weeks behind.”
Seeing the paper in the man’s hand, Jason Dill felt his pulse speed up in anticipation. “What came in?”
“This.” Larson put down a sheet of what appeared to be expensive watermarked stationery. “I also took the measure, when I saw this, of having it analyzed and traced. So you’d know how to assess its worth.”
“Unsigned,” Dill said.
“Yes, sir. Our analysts say that it was mailed last night, somewhere in Africa. Probably in
“Dog eat dog,” he said aloud.
“Sir?” Larson said at once.
Jason Dill put down the form. He opened a drawer of his desk and got out a flat metal tin; from it he took a capsule which he placed against his wrist. At once the capsule dissolved through the dermal layers; he felt it go into his body, passing into his blood stream to begin work without delay. A tranquilizer . . . one of the newest ones in the long, long series.
It works on me, he thought, and
they
work on me; it in one direction, their constant pressure and harassment in the other.
Again Jason Dill picked up the form from Director Barris. “Are there many DQ’s like this?”
“No, sir, but there is a general increase in tension. Several Directors besides Barris are wondering why Vulcan 3 gives no pronouncement on the Healers’ Movement.”
“They’re all wondering,” Jason Dill said brusquely.
“I mean,” Larson said, “formally. Through official channels.”
“Let me see the rest of the material.”
Larson passed him the remaining DQ forms. “And here’s the related matter from the data troughs.” He passed over a huge sealed container. “We’ve weeded all the incoming material carefully.”
After a time Jason Dill said, “I’d like the file on Barris.”
“The documented file?”
Jason Dill said, “And the other one. The unsub-pak.” Into his mind came the full term, not usually said outright.
Unsubstantiated.
“The worthless packet,” he said. The phony charges, the trumped-up smears and lies and vicious poison-pen letters, mailed to Unity without signature. Unsigned, sometimes in the garbled prose of the psychotic, the lunatic with a grudge. And yet those papers were kept, were filed away. We shouldn’t keep them, Jason Dill thought. Or make use of them, even to the extent of examining them. But we do. Right now he was going to look at such filth as it pertained to William Barris. The accumulation of years.
Presently the two files were placed before him on his desk. He inserted the microfilm into the scanner, and, for a time, studied the documented file. A procession of dull facts moved by; Barris had been born in Kent, Ohio; he had no brothers or sisters; his father was alive and employed by a bank in Chile; he had gone to work for Unity as a research analyst. Jason Dill speeded up the film, skipping about irritably. At last he rewound the microfilm and replaced it in the file. The man wasn’t even married, he reflected; he led a routine life, one of virtue and work, if the documents could be believed. If they told the full story.
And now, Jason Dill thought, the slander. The missing parts; the other side, the dark shadow side.
To his disappointment, he found the unsub-pak on William Barris almost empty.
Is the man that innocent? Dill wondered. That he’s made no enemies? Nonsense. The absence of accusation isn’t a sign of the man’s innocence; to rise to Director is to incur hostility and envy. Barris probably devotes a good part of his budget to distributing the wealth, to keeping everybody happy. And quiet.
“Nothing here,” he said when Larson returned.
“I noticed how light the file felt,” Larson said. “Sir, I went down to the data rooms and had them process all the recent material; I thought it possible there might be something not yet in the file.” He added, “As you probably know, they’re several weeks behind.”
Seeing the paper in the man’s hand, Jason Dill felt his pulse speed up in anticipation. “What came in?”
“This.” Larson put down a sheet of what appeared to be expensive watermarked stationery. “I also took the measure, when I saw this, of having it analyzed and traced. So you’d know how to assess its worth.”
“Unsigned,” Dill said.
“Yes, sir. Our analysts say that it was mailed last night, somewhere in Africa. Probably in
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